Thinking back, most of this year has been a real misery. Looking back on it, it's clear that the incident with Stephen Buonocore really did a number on me emotionally, and that's carried through for the entire latter half of this year. Maybe it would have been different if I had more of a social support system already in place but without that, it ran through my self-esteem like a knife through jello. I've spent years telling myself that if I could just mentally toughen myself, nothing would matter and I could plow through anything. I guess what that incident showed is that when push comes to shove, I still fall down. It's no wonder that I've mostly tried to avoid people whenever possible since, and I'll probably always get to enjoy the specter of whispers and snide comments whether they exist or not.
As much as I tried to keep from getting my hopes up, I really thought the Humira might have been the silver bullet. You try to downplay it and act nonchalant, but it's hard not to have the spark of what if. I wouldn't say the hope is completely extinguished now, but it's certainly not as bright as it was. All of the benefits seem to have slowly faded and if there's any improvement at this point it's marginal at best. My entire condition is like fighting a trench war, scarred and bloody tracks carved in flesh and it's one that I'm losing no matter what I do. Is it any wonder that I sometimes wish it were possible to just surrender and let it consume me.
Is it any wonder I often think of Stephen Donaldson's Thomas Covenant.
Leper, outcast, unclean.